


Gravity

by Calychoco



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, The Death Cure Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calychoco/pseuds/Calychoco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/!\THE DEATH CURE SPOILERS/!\<br/>As he's slowly drifting into obscurity, Newt lets his mind wander...to some shank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> This is a deathfic. My apologies. 
> 
> Thanks to 2manyOTPs for her proofreading ♥

Isaac Newton, it's the shank who got an apple dropped onto his head.  
Newt, it's the shank who got a bullet fired into his head.

Haha. Bloody hell. I'm a Crank. Joking at such a time.  
Thomas has finally shot me, I thought he would never do it. I'm sorry I yelled at you, Tommy. But I missed your friendship.  
When you came at the Crank Palace to get me back, I thought I was about to tear open your guts. It wasn't even because of the Flare, it was because you hadn't help me. You've always been a Greenie, Thomas, not even able to kill me. Anyway, you finally did it and it's all that matters.  
I'm not afraid to die. I'd rather die than becoming one of them.

I didn't imagine Death to come this slowly. Maybe it's because I'm far too gone yet. I assume I still should be able to die, and it's simply taking more time than it does for a sane human. The bullet surely didn't hit an instant-death zone.

When thinking about it, the Maze times were kinda cool. Better than the rest, I mean. There were no girls, no Cranks, no mischievous twisted plans, not this shucking Flare.  
Only the Grievers, those bloody beetleblades, and us. I miss the Glade. And Frankie, Winston, Chuck, Alby. Minho too. 'Wish I could've seen them all before dying. I asked Minho to kill me. But that shank wouldn't listen. Seeing him at the Crank Palace, deaf to anything I'd say, was enough for me to realise he would have never killed me. And yet, how much would I have preferred for him to shoot me down, sending me to Hell with his face as my last memory.  
He's so stubborn.  
It hurt, Minho.

It's been a while since I've seen him. I miss him, I miss running through the Maze with him. We used to run so much back there, it feels like an eternity since I got my limp.  
I remember his face when he learnt what had happened. He yelled at me then sighed, turned away, and never talked about it again. I couldn't run with him anymore, but he didn't blame me for it, never complained. He thanked me for my Runner job, and that was it. I was so sick of it, I regretted my bloody stupid attempt so much, I wanted to help him, to run with him, to be with him as usual. But I couldn't. It hurt.

And then I turned into a Crank.  
Why couldn't he have killed me? It hurt so much.  
Once he had left the Crank Palace, once he had left me, what had he done?  
He probably had smashed everything around him. Had gotten furious at me. Had cursed me as much as he could, knowing I was doomed and still refusing to face the truth. What a bloody shuck-face.  
I wish he could have put an end to it. I wish I could have died in his arms. It would have felt better than to watch my life  slowly fade away along with my mind, alone and pathetic.

Bloody hell. I'm crying.

Why am I finally becoming lucid in death? Why wasn't I Imune? Why did you do this to us? Why did you kill Alby, Chuck, Winston, and me? Do you sincerely think it might be of any help? ...Do you even care about us?  
Of course you don't.  
Variables, schemes, patterns, all bullshit. Human life cannot be measured with programs. And yet, you're killing us all. You're digging your own grave, shucking wankers. There is no cure. There cannot be any cure obtained with human sacrifices, because it wouldn't be a remedy. Only a poison. A sick, disgusting poison agonisingly slowly choking us all until we collapse at your feet. Until the Earth crumbles from your barbarity and you realise you're doomed and already burried alive.  
And it's just fair game, isn't it, Minho?

...

Bloody hell. Why am I thinking about this shank now?

I miss everything so much. I wish Thomas had never brought any of this to the Glade, I wish that they had let us live in peace. Amnesic, encaged, but in peace. I wouldn't have attempted suicide, and Minho and I could still be running.  
I want them to make it through. They must not die. I don't think there's anything left to save on this shucking planet anymore, but they must not die. Not before they crush down this damn WICKED.  
_WICKED is good_ , what a bloody joke. I shucking hate them. And don't they dare kill the others, or I'll kill them, whether I'm dead or not. I'll come and tear out their guts.

It's gonna be alright, they're not going to die, that I'm sure. Minho's bloody stubborn, but he's a good leader...As his tattoo says. Finally something they got right about us. I knew he was a better leader than me. But ah, he wouldn't listen to me. That  shank.  
Sometimes I just wish he could stop punching everything in his way and use his shucking brain. Would he have punched me before I died? Maybe. Can't say I wouldn't have deserved it. And at least I could have kept something from him... _over here_.

While going nuts, what I feared the most was to forget. To forget everything we used to live together, the Glade, the Maze, Thomas, our escape, the Scorch, the thunder storms, our supposed Safe Haven. Even forgetting Alby's and Chuck's deaths frightened me. So I kept on telling and repeating over and over everything I knew about them, about us, about me.  
Rumour has it thinking allows the Flare to spread and to damage the brain more quickly. It must explain why I didn't last long.  
But at least, I remember everything.

Isaac Newton, it's the shank who decomposed white light.  
Newt, it's the shank who's seeing the white light.

Bloody hell, finally. It was getting boring...Haha, I'm definitely more screwed up than what I thought.

I remember everything.  
My first day in the Glade, the first time I met those shanks, my first run in the Maze. The first Griever I saw a trace of, Minho's first wound. My limp. Minho yelling at me and then trying to smile. Ah, he never smiles, this shank. But he had tried. He never cries, either. He only shouts and punches. Well, maybe he'll cry learning I'm dead.  
Minho's not a bad shank. Even on the contrary, he's far too kind. I know it better than anyone.

Bloody hell. I understand this only now.

I'm not crying anymore. I'm not hurting anymore. The only thing I can see now is this goddamn white light, so I close my eyes.

"I loved you, shuck-face."


End file.
